


Give Sorrow Words

by Paraxdisepink



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:06:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paraxdisepink/pseuds/Paraxdisepink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the storm scene in Mutiny, Horatio knows Archie has made up his mind about the Captain, but tries to put off facing that conclusion. Poor Horry beating himself up and wanting comfort from the only good thing he's ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Sorrow Words

“ _Damn_ this rain,” Horatio slammed his hat down on his seachest,  
scowling at the puddle his dripping garments had made over the cabin floor.  
Slippery planks were not the worst of it; his hair clung like a damp net,  
trickling whole rivers down the back of his neck, between the layers of  
uniform and skin. Every inch of him was a prison of wet and cold. “At this  
rate the Renown will be at the bottom of the sea before we ever test her  
might against Spanish guns. God damn it to Hell!” His numb, wet fingers  
could scarcely grasp the oiled cloth of his greatcoat.

His curses only seemed to stir the storm to battering _Renown_ ’s weathered sides with greater furor. A madman’s music. Then it abated, at least to his ears, for the softer sound of a book closing behind him, followed by a gentle rustling of blankets. 

“I keep a fond image, Horatio, of you standing in the rain.” 

Horatio froze as the words flitted softly across the cramped square of their cabin, light with mirth and yet thick with sentiment. How that could be never ceased to puzzle him. 

Letting his hands fall, Horatio narrowed his eyes. “Archie . . .” He pressed his cold lips together, stealing a glance over his shoulder. This was scarcely the place for flirting, yet the impish smile Archie offered him was distinctly covetous. Horatio shook his head, certain that one could sooner chart the roof over the stars than the limits of his friend’s impertinence. 

It was no easy thing to look away from the tranquil, grinning image of Archie beneath the blankets, his hair a pool of gold upon the pillows. The slight dullness to his blue eyes proved him weary, but his skin was no longer flushed from the rain and wind. After the smile faded, he merely appeared worried—an expression that left Horatio belatedly aware that Archie had been watching him the entire time he had stood staring at the walls of their cabin. It hardly mattered; Archie had been on deck tonight and knew what tugged at his heart. 

“Horatio, for God’s sake.” 

Lowering his head, Horatio winced to hear that soft entreaty a second time tonight. Dear God, the image flashed again like a tiny bolt of lightening, twisting his stomach. His carelessness had struck down a boy, let him go the way of Williams and Finch and Hunter, and all the rest of them. 

“Horatio . . .” Bare feet hit the planks. Once again the crash and hiss of the rain gave way, this time to the softer sound of nearing footsteps. Horatio remained still, too cold inside to muster the grace to turn and meet the golden, bare-chested man who had left his snug bed to tend to him. He frowned; Archie would catch cold. His friend need not gamble his health on a reckless fool too clumsy to even get out of his own coat. 

He sought to resume that task before Archie could reach him, but gave up after a moment with a sigh. His hands were worthless, falling limp at his sides, too numb to possess any feeling now. Perhaps the truth of the moment should have been a cause for humiliation; he did not need his own hands, for Archie’s came up from behind him, curling beneath the collar of the greatcoat and peeling it from his shoulders. Horatio did not move as it slid to the floor, biting his lip to prevent himself from snapping that he could undress himself. Snapping at _Archie!_ He shook his head, instantly ashamed. Damn this ship. 

“It’s no good, Horatio. You’re soaked through. Let me.” 

The offer had to do with more than removing his wet clothes, Horatio was certain, but his friend did not move any closer. Instead, Archie merely stepped around him, until Horatio found himself confronted with unlaughing blue eyes focused on their task. His borrowed pair of hands was already unknotting the black cravat at his neck, moving down to his jacket and then his waistcoat. 

Some shred of dignity kept Horatio from wrapping his arms around himself once the two heavy, wet layers were stripped away, leaving him shivering in his shirtsleeves. The chill of the cabin stung his neck and chest, quickly settling into his bones. 

“To what new heights has old Sawyer’s raving soared now?” Archie did not roll his eyes at the Captain’s name as he was wont. He did not meet Horatio’s eyes, but kept his gaze on his own hands as they tugged the wet folds of shirt from even wetter trousers. 

Pushing Archie’s hands away, Horatio glanced about. He could not help but consider the ship’s thin walls. “Archie . . .” He turned his back to his friend, grateful that his fingers had thawed enough to pull his own shirt over his head. 

Archie’s answering silence surprised him – as much as it did that Archie did not insist on removing the remainder of his clothing in another of his tiny, playful acts of rebellion, or possession. Horatio found his ears aching for his friend’s merry chatter – how easily the soft melody of Archie’s voice could drown out the cacophony of a storm – but his friend had tempered himself somewhat since they had first met. Years in captivity had quieted Archie’s tongue, and suffering had sharpened his mind. Horatio could feel that sapphire gaze on him, steady as the glare of the sun in a clear sky. Archie knew the weight on his heart, too merciful to speak of it. Thank god he did not, for how the seeming dust of a few words might add to the ambiance of danger on this ship Horatio had no wish to guess. 

Shaking his head, Horatio turned to face Archie again, shirtless and tense with the cold of this place, surrendering to the coward’s truth that he feared any words from Archie about the state of the ship might pitch his soul past some boundary that his mind could only scarcely wrap itself around. 

Those blue eyes fixed on him instantly, reflecting a sadness altogether different from Archie’s other ills. Sadness for him? Horatio thinned his lips into a frown, Sawyer forgotten; Archie should not hurt on his account. Perhaps it was pity, if he was worth so much, for Archie’s hands came easily to his shoulders, steering him silently to his bunk to tug off the sopped shoes and stockings. One of Raphael’s angels, kneeling at his feet. 

Horatio spread his hands to either side of him on the blankets, overwhelmed by a wave of warmth despite the loss of clothes. Archie waited, without a sound or smile, content not to intrude on his misery but only to watch him. Horatio leaned back, heaving a sigh. His head was heavy when it fell back onto the pillow. Only when he closed his eyes, unable to see Archie before him, did he begin to shiver. 

His ears caught sounds, seemingly insignificant things – the low click of the door being latched secure, something heavy pushed against it, the quiet rush of breath that meant Archie had snuffed the candles out, followed by one or two feather light steps on the wood. Insignificant, yet stirring, beckoning poisonous wants. Only a hint at first, a prickle inside Horatio’s belly, slithering up his spine, fanning his blood with warm sparks, culminating in a more violent shiver. 

The hammock swung under Archie’s weight. He anchored himself with palms beside Horatio’s shoulders and knees beside his hips, that heavier, more muscular body providing a barrier between him and the chill of their cabin. Horatio did not move, even as Archie’s sigh swept like a feather across his chest, even as Archie sank down against his body, smothering the cold in him, crushing him with his warmth. 

“’Give sorrow words,” he quoted gently against Horatio’s mouth. “’The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.’” 

“Archie . . .” His friend’s name came so quickly to his lips by habit that Horatio paused a moment later to consider what Archie had actually said. Those familiar verses, Horatio closed his eyes. The sound of the rain, the weight of Archie against his body, left him recalling older days in dreary London and the pleasure they had shared in their rented room after long evenings at the playhouse. And at the playhouse, it had been distant Spain in his mind, Archie’s voice, the poet’s rhythm in his speech, reading the same plays to him those days he could scarcely walk or move. 

“Horatio?” A quiet question lay in the word, and Horatio knew if he still had the advantage of the candlelight he would spy no mischievous light in his friend’s blue eyes this time. Archie was tempting him in earnest, toward what he did not know, but surely it was more than what it might seem with both of them shirtless and one atop the other. 

He had no answer. What was there to say? The boy’s body already lay at the bottom of the sea and he would not dare shame his friend by speaking of those early days. Yet Horatio could not push the memories back now, not the crushed ruin of the corpse, the other men he had lost; he could only wonder at what pitiful recompense he might give. Even that was not so black a thing as what he had read in his friend’s eyes earlier. The way to the noose seemed to lay in Archie’s blue gaze, resting on him nervously, angrily, while Sawyer had raved. Horatio swallowed. He _had_ done his best to look away. 

Even after all these years, his hands were awkward when they came to his friend’s back, first one and then the other sliding from Archie’s waist to the smooth flesh behind his shoulders. Horatio knew the other man’s body too well, frowning as his fingers dragged across one shoulder blade, where the light would reveal a faded scar left by the lash. His other hand immediately traced another scar along Archie’s side, against his ribs, where a musket ball had grazed him. Reminders of his friend’s captivity, of _his_ sins marked on Archie’s flesh. 

Archie only shifted, his back stiffening even as he dropped his head under Horatio’s chin with a small sigh. Archie’s hair was silk against his skin, but for once Horatio resisted the urge to pull it from its ribbon and wind it round his fingers. He only longed to feel Archie’s warm flesh under his hands, soft and healed and alive, heart beating steadily against his chest where they were snuggly pressed together. 

“Horatio, you’re devilish cold.” Archie’s chuckle tickled at his throat, followed by warm fingertips, skimming across Horatio’s chest and down to his hip. His heart quickened; how long had it been since they had made love the night through? That was all Horatio wanted now, to feel him. “What you need is a fire and good brandy, if you could keep old Clive from making off with it.” 

With a reproachful frown, Horatio shook his head. Someday he would teach the fourth lieutenant to hold his tongue. “No.” Lifting a hand, he twined his fingers in that fine, golden hair, cupping Archie’s chin with the other. “Lie with me, Archie,” he whispered, peering into the pretty face hidden from him by the darkness. 

Archie let out something between a gasp and a hushed laugh. Horatio closed his eyes, tugging at Archie’s hair until that soft mouth came down upon his own, warm and moist, melting him with a soft, thorough kiss. So sweet, combined with the excitement of feeling Archie respond, growing hard against his thigh. Anticipation warmed Horatio’s body in waves, rolling up from the pit of his stomach. Warmth turned to outright heat as he wriggled underneath his friend’s hard weight, freeing one leg and then the other, bending his knees so that Archie’s body lay tightly cradled between his thighs. 

“Horatio, are you mad?” Archie pulled his mouth away, leaning back on his elbows. “On this ship they’re bound to hear.” He shook his head in the darkness, his tone sharpening. “You might have been born to hang, Mr. Hornblower, but not for this.” 

Had Horatio possessed a lighter heart he might have laughed. These protests always had been more out of sport than actual fear. The Articles held no power over Archie Kennedy; his heart burned for these little seditions. Archie only thrived on dangling the risk, on knowing that Horatio took it for him alone. And so he did, and gladly. But even if they had not been lovers for years it was better to surrender his body now than what Archie truly wanted of him. If he went to the noose a fool in forbidden love, the world might have some pity for him, but hanged for treachery . . . all those who knew him would be shamed to speak his name. 

“With this rain, Archie? They’d be pressed to hear the cook cry fire in the galley. Listen.” He pressed his fingers over Archie’s lips. The steady stream still battered the wood, drowning out even the sound of his heartbeat, and then came the slap of the waves, the wild sea bruising her sides. Horatio curled his fingers around the back of Archie’s neck, pulling his mouth down on his a second time. 

The kiss was brief, broken by Archie’s laughter, quiet and soft against him. “In that case,” his friend angled his head to place a light, impish kiss against his jaw, “we could keep knocking off all night, if you’re up for it. Old Buckland doesn’t know his pickle from his spyglass, let alone what two officers might do with theirs. What say you, Horatio? Will the deck suffice?” 

Archie did not need a reply. He was already up, dragging a blanket free from the other cot and spreading it over the wood. Horatio sighed as warm arms gathered him up, helping him off the swinging cot and down to the blanket. 

“Much better,” Archie draped his body over him, stretching up to catch his mouth again. “Better to dampen these planks with the remnants of our lust than this damned inconvenient rain.” 

Horatio did not move, his lips hanging open, lying breathless from the other man’s kisses. Archie possessed a mouth for mutiny and making love, and the latter might cost them enough as it was. “Archie, please,” was all his rasping lungs could manage. Thank that elusive god in Heaven that he was granted pity; Archie took his weight from him just enough to slip one hand between them, unfastening the buttons of his trousers. 

Hot, quick fingers skimmed over his belly. Horatio’s body tightened just to feel them moving to his hips, pushing the cloth down until he was naked. His thighs tingled from the cold, his feet aching as if trapped in a prison of ice, but in his lap lay a pool of fire, an urgent, tightening ache that soon left him burning. 

A soft hand stroked his thighs, and then dipped between them, wrapping around his hardness and caressing him a little. “Well, well, well . . .” Horatio needed no candle to see Archie’s grin; it brimmed over through his words. “What have we here? Third Lieutenant Hornblower, hard as a diamond and not a stitch to cover him.” 

Sure, jesting words, from a man who spoke as though he were not equally hard in his trousers. Archie had not always been so cavalier, and the memory of those darker times always loomed so close. Spain seemed a sanctuary when compared to this hell, but no, it was almost as if Horatio had lain with a different man then, frail with illness of the mind and body, bitter, afraid even. 

It had been no easy feat, getting Archie to lay still and accept his clumsy gifts of pleasure, biting back the old repulsion and dread. Horatio could almost hear those first little moans, those precious indications of pleasure and joy. And for the first time, Horatio’s black sense of himself had ebbed. He had not seemed a plague condemning those near to him to death and pain; Archie had come alive; his friend’s strength had proved greater than his error. 

Horatio draped one arm round Archie’s waist, if for no other reason than that Archie would allow it. He let the fingers of his free hand slip inside Archie’s trousers, finding no resistance or fear, only flesh that tightened anxiously under his touch and a rich laugh as Horatio skimmed over to the buttons and slid them free. 

“ _Horatio_ . . .” How heated his name sounded, quivering as Horatio reached down, drawing that hard prize from Archie’s trousers. Archie leaned forward, his flesh slipping from Horatio’s palm. leaving Horatio no choice but to slide his hand along the fine golden hair of Archie’s chest, up to grip the waves of his queue, pulling him close. 

Archie’s kisses were open-mouthed and playful now, bestowed with an enthusiasm only he could find on this hell of a ship. He became ravenous, rasping between kisses as his mouth moved across Horatio’s throat and then darted up to claim his lips again. Horatio panted at the feel of Archie’s heart hammering against his own, but even that seemed calm and steady compared to the throbbing in his lap. The stirring inside Horatio was not without its taste of pain, however, his blood raging suddenly inside a tired, cold body aged with regret and sights he wished his eyes had not beheld. Tonight, he had lay down and thought to offer his friend only a chilled corpse for pleasure, not a man weak with passion who gripped gold hair and opened his lips with a shaking moan at the devilish tongue wriggling inside his mouth, toying with him. Once again, Archie surprised him, throwing his heart into this game like some besotted treasure seeker who would not rest until he collected all the pieces of his soul. 

“Now wait, Horatio.” Archie’s laughter bubbled over him, an eternal fountain that would never run dry. Horatio found himself deprived of his warm, compact armful, the rush of cold over his naked skin like the breaking of a fever. He gritted his teeth. The chill of the room seemed to deepen by the contrast of knowing such heat and then having it cruelly pulled away. A part of him feared he would not survive this new tide of shivers, and Horatio opened his mouth to beg Archie to return to him. 

The words would not come, only a sharp rush of breath as a hand made its way over his chest, across one nipple. Horatio closed his eyes. Archie’s hand skipped down, teasing the inside of one thigh until Horatio’s head dropped back as far as it would go. His back arched, offering his body; a touch came to him then, warm fingers wet with something, slipping inside and stroking until he shook. They withdrew and Horatio waited, holding his breath, and then he was overwarm and somewhat hurting, his hips lifting and his arms reaching out, pulling Archie close. 

Archie was strong, his movements driving Horatio’s body into the wood beneath them, even as he sank into Horatio’s arms with a soft, protracted cry. Horatio clung to him, one arm around his shoulders, the other around his back, feeling the supple body above him arch and flatten as Archie pushed into him. The pleasure was paralyzing, quivering through Horatio’s thighs, bringing a sticky coat of sweat behind his knees. Horatio threw his head back, drinking in Archie’s heavy gasps, whimpering under the fierce wet kisses more than matching the rhythm of his lover’s hips. 

“Archie . . . Archie . . . ” he rasped like a chant against the other man’s ear, like that first time years ago. Yet Archie needed no encouragement now; the steady rhythm of his body knew how to claim a man, the hungry pressure of his mouth hiding nothing of his passion. Archie was alive, resurrected by this pleasure, not lost to the sea or to despair, and in giving up himself for this Horatio’s sins were undone. 

Horatio let his mouth find the warm flesh of his lover’s neck, kissing and licking while he gripped the writhing, sweat-damp body above him. It was not long before his own body twitched with climax, before Archie’s limp, sated weight collapsed panting against him. 

For many moments Horatio’s fingers simply rested over the blond hair spread across his chest. It seemed only by some miracle that the rhythm of his breathing slowly faded to a gentler, steady sound and that his heart shrank back and settled more quietly in his breast; he had seemed so near to breaking a moment before. Horatio’s legs trembled as he stretched out, a pleasant soreness in his limbs from their clenched position. A cool crown of sweat ringed his brow beneath his hair, but even that was nothing to the small pool cooling like a frost against his belly. Horatio groaned, the sound stirring the body in his arms to awareness. 

“Archie, it’s all right,” Horatio whispered by long habit, stroking the fine tresses spilling over his skin. Then he blinked, shaking his head at himself for a damned fool. Confusing the past with this place again. . . . Archie was not frightened anymore, Archie was strong; it was Lieutenant Kennedy his men had looked to tonight on deck, the composed officer while he had been . . . . 

Archie’s long sigh chased away that thought. He groaned, rolling onto his back. “And so it is,” he murmured, his words hoarse, breathless. Horatio clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering, cold rolling over him like a blanket where Archie’s body had heated him before, the press of Archie’s shoulder his only source of warmth now. “But it won’t be, Horatio, if you don’t get back up under the covers.” 

Horatio only leaned his head back, letting his arms fall limp at his sides. His body had found a strange, weary peace, too sluggish to move despite the cold prickling along his skin. “That is your bed, Mr. Kennedy, I would not presume.” He brought one hand up, giving his friend a playful shove, before folding his arms and sinking back with a sigh. “How long do you think we’ll stay aboard this damned ship, Archie?” 

“Until you are captain of your own ship, Horatio,” Archie replied, as if the answer were obvious. “And mind you have some mercy and let me at least the honor of serving as a midshipman.” That same familiar humor, even in debasing himself; Horatio could recall a time when his own achievements had only left Archie bitter. Perhaps Archie had learned less of his legacy and more of his mettle over the years and only mocked him now. 

“I would be honored to have you as my first officer, Archie, if the Admiralty were not anxious to hand you your own ship by then.” 

He tried to keep his tone even, so that Archie could not mistake his sincerity; he would guard the man’s honor like a flag in his heart, even as the warm body against him shook with rich laughter. 

“Now there’s a way to tip the balance of the war in favor of the Dons.” 

Horatio’s frown deepened, something colder than the chill of the room seizing his blood. He rolled onto his side. “Archie . . .” His lips worked for encouraging words to prevent his friend from slipping back into that state of years ago, when Horatio had nearly lost him, when he had come so close to his worst failure. 

The shadowed figure upon the blanket did not move, only spared a small sigh for those things he would not speak of. Oh damn him for letting Archie remember. “I’m not a complete fool, Horatio.” He shed his bitterness in the next moment, as though the pain were nothing, as though he were impatient with this talk. It did not matter; the truth was clear between them, though always unspoken; Archie truly did not want his own ship and Horatio knew he would never survive such a parting. “Better to think on shore leave or Kingston or some other small miracle.” 

Perhaps Archie had the right idea. Horatio exhaled slowly, sinking down into the blanket again. Tonight they had found peace, an avenue away from this hell, and even this cramped cabin had become as good a refuge as any. 

“Come here, Archie.” Horatio unfolded his arms, and quietly his friend rolled against his shoulder, near enough for Horatio to rest his lips against Archie’s brow. He pressed a kiss there, feeling one pale eyelid flutter beneath his lips, and then closed his arms around his lover’s shoulders. “Archie, I must thank you tonight, for your prudence.” He kissed Archie’s cheek. “I would be a poor fool if you did not look after me.” 

“You don’t need me,” Archie muttered into his neck, shaking his head. Horatio could only snort at the plain absurdity of this statement. “Now clean yourself up and get under _you_ r blankets, then, Mr. Hornblower.” Archie lifted his head, one palm spreading over Horatio’s chest, stroking cool skin. “You’ve been out in the rain for too long.” 

Horatio heard the rare sound of his own soft laughter. “This is a command I fear I cannot obey.” 

Both arms encircled Archie’s back, and by hooking one leg over Archie’s hip Horatio managed to roll the both of them over, letting out a low groan at the sensation of Archie pinned beneath him. His fingers found the waistband of his friend’s trousers, sliding them free one leg at a time until there was only flesh warming flesh as his body pressed down, his lips smothering the quick, eager breaths escaping Archie’s yielding mouth. 

Here was yet another piece of himself dredged up from the sea of cold misery that was his soul – an insatiable lover whose heart swelled with need to move slow and take care with this man, to try and shatter him and then see him survive, over and over. Those clear blue eyes had already spoken their piece, but for now both of them must be content with this little sedition until the time came to do what must be done. Pray God this storm lasted long enough for Archie to retrieve for him, in the corpse-littered ocean floor of his heart, a being with courage enough for that day.


End file.
